Bad.

Little good for nothing prick.
He had gotten used to the voices in his head by now. It had begun when he was 4, and now at 31, he still heard the same disapproving chaos every hour of the day.
When he was younger, he would try to please them in secrecy; he knew his Christian mother wouldn’t approve. He had smoked his first joint at 12, had sex with an older woman at 13 and killed his neighbor’s dog at 16. He had stolen, threatened and kidnapped. He had scars to match every story.

Good for nothing failure.
At 19 he got a girl pregnant, who left the child at his Christian mother’s Christian steps.
A baby girl. A nuisance. A gift.
No, he didn’t change over night. Or maybe he did. His mother would thank the Lord at every Sunday mass.
6 years later ghosts from his pasts came to haunt him. He never saw his little girl again.

Asshole. Loser. Idiot. Bastard.
No. He wasn’t good. His wasn’t a Christmas miracle story. He was bad. Hell, bad was his calling.
The voices in his head, the truth of his soul. It was a good thing she died. Just a nuisance.
He was a demon. He felt no remorse, no pain.
He worked his days at the local shelter, and nights at the hospital scrubbing floors.
And sometimes, his hands would just itch to stop a critical patient’s drip or turn the oxygen knob close.
He wasn’t good. He would never be good.

You’re a selfish jerk. You’re a monster. You’re the devil himself.
He fought. He fought daily. He fought to leave behind his past. He fought to forget combing her raven hair. He fought to keep up his good façade.
But he never won. He couldn’t. He was evil. He was evil before he could even breathe. He was evil, not by choice but by nature.
He couldn’t fight his demons for long. How long?
He wasn’t good. He was evil.

Die. Die. Die. Die.
Dead.